it is that time. that moment when you find yourself in your pyjamas at 2pm, following another night on the sofa because you happened to fall asleep there and just stayed put with the tv on. in your heart of hearts you know it’s because you fear the bedtime routine. the quiet in your mind never comes so you avoid it altogether in favour of a pixelated fade out.
your mind tells you, your heart feels too, that there is nothing to get up for in the morning. nothing and nobody.
you’re not out of touch with reality - whatever that is - entirely. you know the things, you know the people. you have a to-do list. natch. not virgo for nothing. yet it seems so pointless. no passion ties you to any material or corporeal entities. you spy them from behind a veil, aching, really, really aching for any spark or semblance of life force to properly connect you to them.
it’s the conclusion you’ve come to, that you were born without enough life force. you are deficient in this regard. like some people’s bodies cannot produce enough insulin, yours is one in which the pilot light goes out regularly. it sputters like a sad engine while dark things crowd around.
the sputtering is a particular process, where your rational mind battles with heavier currents. it can go on for a long time. and while you may be quite an indulgent, earthy person, you’re not one to feel sorry for yourself. you can see how difficult some people’s lives are, you can see how easy you have it. you battle with the real and imagined voices who tell you you have it way too easy. who tell you that you need to get up off your backside and go do something.
until, until. you have to reluctantly admit to yourself that the very simple acts of getting up every day, making it out the door and appearing somewhat normal are major achievements because where others feel solid ground you are knee deep in quicksand. you start recognising your tiny triumphs but it’s no comfort because really, you don’t want to see anyone, you don’t want to do anything. you want to dissolve into the atmosphere, just dissipate and float away on the wind.
that you can remember being well, being happy and full of life and longing makes this so much harder. the memory of waking up with plans and desires is close enough to make the current state of things profoundly painful. you’ve lost a lifetime trying to untangle where it all went wrong. you cannot reproduce a feeling at whim. you cannot muster up an emotion by wishing it back. you don’t know the first thing about yourself.
the guilt and shame are excoriating. it burns and burns and burns. more than anything you want to explain. explain and explain to everyone so that it makes sense, so that there are no loose ends, no judgements, no questions. explain until your place in the universe is understandable and perfectly justified. it is a hopeless task, a dangerous rabbit hole.
it’s when when you find yourself down the hole, in the dark, you call. you call your dr. and you hope and you trust that you can get back to feeling something. anything, to make your days on this earth meaningful.
we’re all just molecules, aren’t we?
dededos
gummygunk
jacobvanloon
titsay
germansingergirl